


love the feeling you bring to me

by anonymousdaredevils



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Feelings, M/M, Work In Progress, a lot of feelings, weird sex kind of stuff probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 04:16:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4086349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousdaredevils/pseuds/anonymousdaredevils
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(I want to take care of you, sometimes, Matt said, awkwardly.  you always look out for me.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	love the feeling you bring to me

"So," Foggy said, one day, "I get you can't turn it off, bud, but if you know every lie I ever did tell -"

And Matt had finished a couple of beers at that point, so he'd smiled, said "Yeah, is this about Carrie Elwis? I knew about that, man, but _everybody_ knew about that, your _mom_ knew about that -"

"- so creepy, again, but no, we're going in a different direction tonight - you probably know that I wasn't kidding about how pretty you are, right?"

"Uh," Matt said. "Why - it didn't seem to be relev - I didn't want to -"

"Just a heads up," Foggy said, "because tonight you are _hot_ , I don't know why tonight especially, and I'm thinking pretty hard about baseball but if anything comes up I don't want to freak you out." 

Which was - not something they usually talked about. Foggy had never, in point of fact, actually mentioned the whole boner-related issue in front of Matt before. "I thought it was the girls," Matt managed. Normally, he'd at least try to bump Foggy's fist, because they'd come to the realization that Karen knew twice as many ways as they did to talk about boners with a voice like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth; the game had to be upped. But this time it felt - not quite - he was pretty sure Foggy wasn't talking about a platonic, friend-boner. 

Foggy put his head down on the table and Matt had to fight the urge to move his head out of the puddle of beer, because: ew, gross. 

"Well," Foggy said, from the table, "fuck."

"I - I don't," Matt managed, mostly because the conversation had gone off the rails so quickly that he didn't know what to say. 

"Nah, bud, I -" and Foggy sighed, long and tired. "I think I'm gonna call it a night," he said, slow, careful. "I shouldn't have laid that on you, man, I'm sorry; you be okay to get home?" 

And Foggy was _leaving_ , he was really going to go, right after he'd opened up like he never had before, Matt had never heard him say anything like that before, and letting him leave would probably kill Matt. Which was why he didn't do the sensible thing: instead, he groped for Foggy's sleeve, said: "wait. I was lying, I lied, I'm sorry."

And Foggy: oh, Matt will never get used to or tired of the way Foggy's body reacts to Matt: fast, focused, attentive. It made him feel worthwhile. And now, with the possibility of more, it made an odd lick of heat curl under his skin. Because he was thinking - Foggy thinks I'm hot, he thought, Foggy might "What," Foggy said, warily. 

"I didn't. I did notice. I knew it wasn't the girls," Matt said. "I thought it might not be the girls. I don't - I didn't want to -" and he didn't know how to finish the sentence or dig himself out of this hole, but he knew he didn't want Foggy to leave, to stop telling Matt his secrets. 

"Why didn't you say anything?" Foggy said, and he sounded honestly pissed. "Shit, man, not cool: tell me to knock it off, I can take a hint." 

"I liked it," Matt blurted. "I liked - you, thinking about me." His face was hot and he didn't know what to do with his hands. "I - you always called me. A - attractive, but. I don't."

" _Attractive_ my ass," Foggy said. He was drunk, Matt was drunk, they shouldn't be having this conversation, but: "Matty, you're adorable when you're walking around in the daytime and - do not get the wrong idea, because I still _categorically disapprove_ of this nighttime shit, but - but you are _fucking ridiculous_ in that costume, it is a disaster, there is no way that should be hot, but you are, I gross myself out."

"Gee, thanks," Matt said. 

He'd thought he'd known all of Foggy's secrets. He'd sort of guess-deduced that Foggy was maybe, sometimes, occasionally, not a platonic kind of a friend. He'd even speculated, a couple of times, as to what it might be like if Foggy ever did anything about it, and he'd thought it would be awkward, that he could brush it off and they'd be okay. They were always okay. 

He hadn't. Anticipated. 

He hadn't realized what it would do to him, Foggy saying that he was hot, this wasn't a good guess based on his friend's heartrate and the way he smelled, this was - this was Foggy, trusting Matt enough to tell him the secrets that Matt had already sort of guessed at, but - it prickled all the way up his arms and down his back, he wanted Foggy to say it again, he wanted more. He'd made other guesses about Foggy; he'd felt a little guilty about them, but basically all right: friends knew each other well, and if Matt knew Foggy a little bit better than most people did, that was still - 

"Matt," Foggy said, whoah, yeah, Matt wanted to hear Foggy say his name and tell him secrets, what. "You're really quiet over there, man. Fuck. I can leave, I get it, I can give you space, but - you're not offended, are you?"

"No," Matt said. Oops. That sounded - funny. He cleared his throat. "I mean, you're probably not the only one who thinks about the costume in the shower," and _what_ was that thing that Foggy's heart had just done, oh, _what_ did that mean, Matt had some guesses - had Foggy? really? in the shower, maybe, but it had sounded weird, not caught exactly, maybe somewhere else, but still, had he? thinking about _daredevil_ , that was - 

"I don't think about the _costume_ , buddy," Foggy said, and _whoah_ , true, that was - Foggy was _telling him stuff_ , true things, things that Matt would've guessed at before, this was - he put his elbows down on the bar. Just to ground himself a little. 

"Do you. I mean." He licked his lips, because they were very dry suddenly. "I don't mind. I. What do you," because. He couldn't. He _wanted_ Foggy to tell him more things that Matt had missed, open up like a crack in the earth, oh, this was bad, this could get addicting, but he didn't know what to say to make Foggy do it. The whole conversation had gone off the rails. 

"Are you asking me to tell you when I -" Foggy started, sounding honestly confused and a little upset, and then Matt's face must have done something odd, because he caught his breath. "Uh. I am _really confused_ right now."

"I think so," Matt said, because he didn't have _any_ idea of what to say, but he wanted Foggy to keep telling him things. It made him feel hot and prickly. 

"Oh god," Foggy said. "This has stopped being a conversation we can have drunk, sunshine." 

 

**

(I want to take care of you, sometimes, Matt said, awkwardly. you always look out for me.) 

**

 

"You wanna hurt me, Matty?" and. Matt hadn't, actually, ever heard Foggy sound like that before. Cautious? 

"I want to see what you'll let me do," which was the bottom line, when it came down to it, and also had nothing to do with that Foggy had just asked. When Foggy cried for him, smell of tears and sound of heart, the blood rushing to the surface like waves of an ocean: that was what he wanted? Was it more or less important than testing how much he could do, what he could say, what he could get away with? People didn't understand, really, about what it meant to be a blind man; they said things like "about a mile" or "chair's over there" _all the time_. Sighted people lived in worlds made up of rough estimates and thoughtless, careless lunges for what they wanted. Matt had been counting heartbeats for twenty years, gauging the angle and velocity of a punch for fifteen: guesstimates would've gotten him dead. How far could he go, exactly? Would Foggy get naked in front of Matt, let Matt slap him, hit his ass until it was hot, till the air smelled like sweat and cum, suck his dick and put teeth to it, just a hint, just to make it - just to see him jerk and yell? 

Thinking about it made him dizzy: it felt dangerous like jumping between rooftops, knowing that he'd calculated the gap correctly and still not - quite - sure if one day he'd slip, fall, misjudge. 

Foggy sighed. "Evidence suggests, councilor, that it's a damn lot more than I should," which hurt, a little, but was fair. He was right, after all: people who knew what Matt was and wanted, deep down at two in the morning, they didn't want to risk loving him. 

 

**

 

(He liked to do it at his place, because they didn't have to turn the lights on. It left Foggy a little disoriented, meant that Foggy had to lean on Matt a little more, trust Matt to take care of him. It was a rush: so many parts of this were a rush, but that, the little things, the way Foggy didn't turn the lights on, he just walked into Matt's bedroom and took his clothes off and handed his pants to Matt, trusted Matt to put them away safe and give them back - oh. Yeah. That was something Matt wanted more of, all the time.) 

"Ha ha, you jerk," Foggy had said, the first time Matt had asked him to leave the lights off and he did, he did, he did. _Because I asked_ , Matt thought, his cock already feeling heavy. 

"Okay?" he asked, and Foggy had paused, for a minute, and then said "No, you mind taking me to the bedroom?" 

Foggy had been in his place a hundred times. 

He could probably get to the bedroom _actually blindfolded_ , it wasn't like Matt changed anything up or left things lying around to trip over. Oh. Oh, Foggy was doing it for _Matt_ , that was. 

"Not all for you," Foggy said, and his voice cracked a little. "So I want you to hold me and walk me to your bedroom, okay?" 

Well. 

Matt had always known that Foggy was the bravest, of the two of them. 

 

**

 

The first time he'd slapped Foggy's face, gently, so carefully, and Foggy'd moaned and the scent of precum in the air had sharpened and Foggy had said, trying for a joke but not quite making it, not quite, couldn't fool Matt, after all, " _oh please_ , really? c'mon, harder" - Matt had felt like he couldn't breathe. 

"I could hurt you," Matt said, feeling - choked, because how to explain _i hit people until they're unconscious, foggy,_ without actually saying it? 

"Yeah," Foggy breathed. "I. Uh. I nodded, just now, I. _Yeah_ you could, yes please, that'd - that's okay," and Matt _heard_ the blood rushing in his head. Foggy's heartbeat had skipped, but not in the way that meant _lying_. 

No. 

Not quite like that. 

"This is not a good idea," he said, slow, because he needed - time. Time to remember why it _was_ a bad idea, time to try to remember the way people sounded and smelled when they'd been punched in the face, because. Because he wanted to hear his hand on Foggy's face. He _really_ wanted that. 

"I think you just don't want to say I'm right again," Foggy said, but his body said _matt matt matt_.


End file.
